


Voyeurism and Sharing

by Belmount



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Double Penetration, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, M/M, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belmount/pseuds/Belmount
Summary: On his deathbed, Odin gathers what would be one of his final breaths and reluctantly commands that Asgard and her wealth of treasures will be shared between his two sons. They are to reign together and enjoy her fruits as brothers. This declaration has unexpected consequences.Or… Loki and Thor share a harem and then each other.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Loki either is Odin's biological son, or never discovers his true heritage.

Odin died as he lived; stubbornly. It was no doubt part of the reason he had reached such a grand old age. Yet, despite their delusions of grandeur, even the gods must pass into the next domain. 

Thus, on the last of the long days that he lied wearily upon his deathbed, Odin gathered what would be one of his final breaths and reluctantly commanded that Asgard and her wealth of treasures were to be shared between his two sons. They were to reign together and enjoy her fruits as brothers. His tone left no room for debate; it was to be. He did not bother offering any kind words or sentiments, only firm but flat directives. It would be his last order. He passed away less than an hour later, but his vast shadow would loom over the nine realms for centuries to come.

His departure signalled the end of a golden era. Nobody shed a tear at the announcement of his death, but nobody dared to offer a laugh either. Thor supposed this is what Odin would have wanted; after all, bards would likely immortalise him as being void of emotion. A perfect statesman. Never loved, but always respected. Nevertheless, a profound hush descended over the palace; and it was gravely apparent that even Odin’s closest allies demanded assurance amid this dark and uncertain time. 

Born from the unease, traitorous whispers grew brazenly louder, claiming Thor would always be too quick to retreat into anger to ever be a decent diplomat, and that Loki was simply too strange and queer to ever gain the reverence of the proud warrior race. Perhaps they were right. Maybe Odin knew as much, why else would he impose such a novel and unheard-of solution. However, the ancient court remained loyal and the people steadfast; dedicated to realising the late Allfather’s last instructions.

They elected to leave the throne empty. For only one of them to reside upon it, even by the violation of the other, would speak of a hidden power dynamic; and risked igniting a brutal civil war. Similarly, taking turns could prove to be too confusing for their populace, as well as far too impractical to execute. Besides, neither of them felt truly at ease upon it, Odin’s aura seemingly haunting the cold, unforgiving stone. His lingering presence, whether existent or imaginary, reduced them akin to inept imposters or perhaps children playing pretend. Thus, they left Odin's seat of power vacant in a show of respect for the silent third party in their reign. Instead, they adopted humbler thrones at the base of the vast room, away from where their father's judgemental scowl could reach them. The court agreed with them, a rare occurrence. 

They frequently argued and screamed, sometimes more like infantile boys than reigning monarchs. But they ultimately coped with their heavy burden. Through delegation and compromise, they balanced out each other's numerous faults. They were not conquerors, like their father or his father before him, but they secured their empire none the less. Perhaps, their reign wouldn’t ever inspire glorious plays or epic ballads, but their subjects didn’t seem to mind too terribly.

Although, that isn't to suggest that their ranks did not weigh heavily down upon them, just that they resisted shattering under the strain. It was this stress that drove them both to seek distraction amid the many luxuries granted by their status; riches, increasingly self-conceited art and most importantly into the arms of women. 

Throughout Asgard's long and winding history, her rulers had always entertained the company of colourful harem's full of comely women. Thor and Loki were no different. This was one of the things that they had inherited from Odin, passed from father to sons. To be shared like everything else. 

Both eagerly embraced it, as all young, enthused men would; arguing that it would be terribly neglectful if they did not enjoy such as gift, discourteous even, both to the horde of pleasing concubines and their ancestors. So, they did.

They ensured to respect the practices of their forefathers, only partaking in carnal activities within the comfort and seclusion of the women’s dwellings, deep in the Sothern quarters of the palace. A king’s bed chambers were reserved for the presence of a queen and a queen alone. And whilst neither of them was married, it remained an unspoken rule. A woman of that class was not deemed suitable for such a privilege, any departure from this lucidity would undoubtedly amass great stir of mutters and hisses. Not even Thor would be rash enough to disregard it.

Ironically, this was where the problem originated. It swiftly emerged that the thin walls in that part of the palace made little effort the conceal the sensual on goings held within the chambers; every slight sound echoing through the large, hollow rooms. This would not normally be an issue. However, this was far from a normal situation. 

Thor reached this conclusion this halfway through a carnal embrace. He was just minding his own business, ploughing a rather dashing blonde, with generous curves in all the right places, when he was rather rudely interrupted by what he could only presume to be Loki loudly engaging in what, from the sounds of things, seems to be a rather animalistic union.

Reddening, like the most prudish of maidens, Thor immediately halted his unforgiving pace. Heart pounding, his fight or flight response kicked in. He was half in the mind to go and lecture his younger brother in the matters of discretion and consideration for others. Although, somehow, he figured this would only lead to his further embarrassment and Loki’s eternal amusement. 

Consequently, he considered fleeing. Granted, such a childish response seemed somewhat timid and unbefitting for a distinguished warrior, and king; bitterly tasting of surrender and defeat. But if he was honest with himself, his hesitation was more due to the fear of encountering his smug little brother in the hallway. Regardless, his tense and uncooperative limbs seemed to reject the idea for him.

So, he instead opted for what he hoped was the lesser of the coward’s choices. Screwing his eyes shut, he resigned himself to waiting for Loki to finish. Yet, the blackness just seemed to amplify the urgent, shrill squeaking of the bed. He could practically feel its vibrations shuddering through the room, through him; invading his body and soul. 

Realising his mistake, he pointedly glared in the opposite direction, like that would somehow silence the growing rhythm of shallow breathes, punctuated only by the occasional gasp of untamed ecstasy. He had no idea who the latter belonged to, and he hastily tried to deny to himself that he had no desire to.

Try as he may, he found no distraction amongst the plain wallpaper and dull tapestries. He wasn't sure whether the seconds merely felt like minutes, fuelled by aching of his ridge muscles, or if their coupling simply lasted longer than he had anticipated. He found himself grateful, when, eventually, a sharp intake of breath hinted at Loki’s orgasm. Although, admittedly it remained information that Thor could have lived without. 

Even after he was confident that Loki had long left, it took several more minutes, and considerable effort, for his concubine to cox him back between her warm legs. His heart was admittedly not in it and his head strayed back to what had just occurred. 

His lust was dead, but his curiosity thrived.


	2. Chapter 2

It may have seemed rather illogical, but before that moment, Thor had never really thought of Loki as a sexual creature. He had, of course, concluded long ago that everyone, minus children and perhaps the aged, was having sex. Similarly, it wasn't that he had necessarily ever paused to envision his brother as a chaste and asexual being. He wasn’t that dim-witted. Nor was he ignorant of how Loki's bright eyes would occasionally stray amid court, or how he often reserved fine, honeyed words for sweet serving girls who could offer him nothing more in life than a glass of wine. Yet, despite this, he simply hadn’t considered the prospect that Loki, his dear baby brother, would engage in such intimacies. 

Curiously, with all the inevitable exchanging of bodily juices, it seemed almost too demeaning and dirty for his proud brother. Although many would unkindly jest otherwise, Thor knew well that Loki’s opposition to partaking in combat did not stem from any form of faint-heartedness or frailty. As for all the ballads tried to mask it beneath colourful descriptions of the glory of Asgard’s military superiority, battle made a habit of being entrenched in mess and muck. He still gaged when recalling the handful of uprisings that had occurred upon Vanaheim in his youth, remembering all too vividly how the realms narrow valleys amid the violence had reeked with streams of blood, piss and shit. The nauseating stench still haunted him from time to time.

Of course, like most of Asgard’s warriors, Thor had quickly overlooked this filth in favour of the addictive thrill that could only come from physically subduing an adversary. Loki had not. He liked to think himself a little too evolved to enjoy the raw brutality of anything so uncivilised, lacking the primal urges necessary; firmly condemning war as a spectator sport. Whilst, Thor relished the means, Loki appreciated the rewards.

Furthermore, Thor clearly remembered, admittedly through a haze of mead, Loki publicly denouncing Fandral for his “primitive” actions, in trying to bed every woman he could find, comparing him to a stray mutt humping any old strangers’ leg. Indeed, Fandral’s more recent attempts had somewhat stunk of desperation. From what Thor had witnessed, Loki preferred to observe beautiful women the same way he liked to observe anything that was objectively exquisite, from afar, without the presences of shallowness or weakness. Not unlike art. 

He had always presumed that lust would be simply too distracting for Loki's liking. Highly impractical, and, therefore, of little value. To the untrained eye, Loki's exploits would seem abstract and often contradictory. Yet, if you looked back from a distance, as Thor did, you would quickly realise that none of it was without a wider purpose, his brother always the strategist.

As a child, Loki had struggled enough with not becoming enchained by his emotions to allow himself, as an adult, to ever become a slave to lust, still raw from allegations of inferiority and effeminateness. Thus, he couldn’t imagine his usually composed brother, who seamlessly manipulated his features into a convincing mask of polite indifference, ever allowing anyone to behold him when he was so vulnerable, especially a stranger. Too afraid of criticism and rejection. Thor couldn’t even recall, since he was boy, ever having witnessed Loki in any sort of state of undress, or even with a hair out of place for that matter.

Or at least until that night. Unknown to him, it would become the first of three times that he would witness Loki in the throes of the act.

He had just stormed out of the court, drowning in his irritation and hoping to find a cure between the legs of a pleasing woman. Thus, he didn’t hesitate upon marching into their concubine’s chambers, blind in his rage. It took a loud groan to harshly jolt him back into his surroundings. Mere feet in front of him, his brother and a courtesan were currently engaged in what he had only heard before.

He instinctively wanted to disappear, or at the very least escape their quarters. Yet, his legs seemed to have abruptly hardened into stone, too heavy for him to move. Stubbornly disobeying his desperate pleading. He was like a puppet whose strings had been carelessly slashed. Sheltered in the shadows, he found himself, wide-eyed, transfixed by the sight before him; framed only by the doorway. He was no different from the hares that he had hunted in his childhood, paralysed upon spotting a predator. Only, he dryly told himself, on this occasion, it was not a sly fox or majestic eagle, but in their place, the sight of his little brother and some girl that were instead rutting just like a pair of oversexed rabbits. Vigorously. Both impatient for their reward.

Alarmingly, his coarse trousers seemed to tighten rather considerably in response. Maybe because, his brother, it emerged, was all long legs and unblemished pale expenses. Unspoiled from the ravages of war. As equally beautiful, as he was handsome. Perhaps more so than even the girl he was joined with. Although, they were a striking pairing, entwined as they were. Like one sensual being, designed for this very purpose. They moved like dancers, rhythmic and well-practised. His thrusts were powerful, yet meticulous. Loki undoubtedly had more experience than he had given him credit for. Unconsciously, his calloused hands strayed between his legs, tightly cupping his throbbing manhood.

In those enchanting moments, Loki’s soft moans and gentle gasps intensified, readying him for the pinnacle of pleasure. Their sounds captivated him in a way not even the finest orchestra ever had. The very air seemed alive and rejoicing in the melody of their coupling. He was rendered nonsensical for not realising it before. Mouth slightly parted and drunk on his arousal, Thor almost hummed along.

Then, back arched gracefully, Loki finally spilled.

And Thor watched the whole affair through the confines of a mirror. He witnessed as his baby brother promptly throw his head back in pure abandon, all tension melting away, lost to the waves of sweet pleasure. And he stared into Loki’s bright eyes as they became wide, meeting his unseeing gaze.

It seemingly announced Thor’s dismissal. Still achingly hard, he turned around, plotting what would inevitably be an inelegant escape; only to be greeted by the full-bodied laughter of his brother, taunting him.

Flushed from intense arousal and shame, he fled. He refused to look back.

Yet, Loki's laugh followed him, first into the corridor and then into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite his overflowing shame, he couldn’t help but immediately take himself in hand upon returning to the privacy of his chambers. He figured that he had already dishonoured himself enough, that anything he did now would do little to change that matter. Thus, he should indulge his urges, knowing that his conscious would painstakingly punish him regardless.

With only a few clumsy jerks of his wrist, he stained his silken bedsheets. Like a naive, prepubescent child. He should have been embarrassed by how quickly he came, but he struggled to care. Embarrassment seemed to be the overpowering theme of his night.

Accepting this, he proceeded to drink his night away. Committed to forgetting his sins, his embarrassment and his guilt. It didn’t work. It took an age of him burying his face in his hands for sleep to eventually take him. And even then, it denies him any sort of refuge, instead, forcing him to relive his worse transgression all over again. The next morning, he could still recall every sordid detail, his mind a blur of Loki’s face. He had opened Pandora's box. 

It had seemed that once again he had proven his brother right, he was a fool. And much worse he was an incestuous fool.

…

He endeavoured to avoid Loki; and had some initial success. Thankfully, the palace was immense and sprawling, and he strictly eluded areas which he knew Loki preferred to dwell, hurrying to and from his destination. When possible, he remained in the safety of his chambers, exclusively taking his meals within there walls. 

But he could only fake illness to avoid attending court for so long before it transpired that outlandish tales had started disseminating that he was suffering from a rare and incurable disease, had been transformed into a bilgesnipe by a spiteful witch whose affections he had rudely rejected, or had been gruesomely murdered by Loki. 

The latter seemed especially popular, he had overheard more than one gruff merchant crudely reasoning that no one had seen both kings at the same time as of recent, thus, they must be right. Thor was, of course, very tempted to highlight, that even if their failed logic was right, Loki was more than capable of creating, and sustaining, illusions from near and afar. Hence, could effortlessly preserve appearances. He decided, however, that it was better not to be seen point this out, as it would not do well to start stories about how he was apparently paranoid about being betrayed.

So, he returned to his duties. It had been indeed selfish to shun them in the first place; both to his people, causing them undue concern, and to Loki, for thoughtlessly abandoning their workload upon him. 

Admittedly, he did not pay much attention to their advisors, whilst awaiting Loki’s arrival; but if they noticed his barely polite, monotone answers and frequent staring into the abyss nobody cared to mention so. He did enough to maintain the guise of politeness, partaking in over a dozen handshakes and acknowledging their jests; hoping that they failed to notice how clammy his palms were or how unnaturally high pitched his laughs were. Evidently, none among the council doubted his mysterious ailment and recovery, with many even commenting on his unwell state, openly encouraging him to rest some more. Indeed, he knew that with his shoulders slumped and head lowly bowed in under the weight of his shame he projected a meek form, lacking his usual boundless confidence.

And perhaps, they were right, maybe he truly was sick, incurably so. Thoroughly depraved and twisted. It would maybe explain his bizarre and abhorrent behaviour. Or perhaps, he was cursed, preyed upon by some wicked sorcerer hoping to destroy Asgard’s reputation as the protector of all that was decent and moral throughout the nine realms. Not that it really mattered, he was damned either way. Rotten to the very core. He could practically feel his putrid soul slowly decaying.

The seconds bled into minutes as he awaited Loki, like a man awaiting his execution. He began to believe that his brother was planning on being intentionally late, in a bid assert his superiority and put the counsel on edge. If that was the case, it was working.

Loki’s entrance would be exceedingly difficult to miss, even if he hadn’t been repeatedly glancing towards the grand doors. For when Loki eventually arrived, he dons the finesse of a showman, the tong of a diplomat and the mind of a scholar; full of quick-wit and artfully backhanded compliments. Unquestionably, this was how he had managed to maintain both order and his own sanity.

It was Loki’s arrival that prompted the commencing of court, sealing the doors and condemning Thor to his inevitable torment. He stared at the clock, impatiently counting down the minutes to his freedom. All the while waiting for Loki reprimand him, to announce his perversions to their counsel. To proclaim him a freak, and a dangerous one at that.

But he never does. Truthfully, he didn't really react to Thor's presence at all, no different than customary anyway. And if he noticed Thor's hunched over form, or his inability to stop twisting their late father's ring or chewing upon his dry quill tip he made no effort to acknowledge so. Instead, the younger king elected to prowl around, circling the seated court like a hungry predator, scrutinising them for the slightest hint of vulnerability to exploit. Crossing his arms defensively, Thor could not shake the feeling that he was next in line of interrogation. That the councillors were simply foreplay; a warmup, allowing him to loosen up his silver tong. 

Yet, during this peculiar game of cat and mouse, he only truly considered Thor once; pausing at his side, demanding his full attention. He refused to move on, looming over him, just rhythmically tapping Thor’s chair, but otherwise completely silent. A cat preparing to play with his food. He could practically feel the white heat of Loki’s stare bearing down upon him, appraising his polluted thoughts. It was a battle of wills and one that his guilty conscious could not bear. 

Thus, surrendering he peered up, bracing himself for the inescapable verbal slaughter awaiting him. But then, Loki dared to wink at him, like he was some sort of co-conspirer in this circus he had whipped up, before simply proceeding with an enigmatic smile. 

His head swam in confusion, causing him to doubt his sanity. Prompting him to question whether he had merely dreamed up the whole occurrence; or if Loki simply hadn’t seen him that night, his spontaneous laugher because of something else entirely. Granted, even then he struggled to comprehend Loki’s wide swings in temperament. 

Thor couldn’t shrug off the sense that his exaggerated performance was simply part of some sort of grand production, he just couldn’t figure out if he was the intended audience or only an unwitting actor.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite his bewilderment, he was certain of one thing as he marched back towards his personal chambers; Loki was following him. No, stalking him. There was an undisguised edge of menace to it. 

Their hurried footsteps echoed through the halls uninterrupted. At first, Loki did not attempt to catch up with him, instead, settling for perfectly mimicking his stride; calmly herding him through a maze of corridors. Always remaining a handful of paces away, and always within his sight. That is until they reached the southern quarters, too eerily close to where he had sinned for it to be coincidental. And there, Loki abruptly pounced on him.

Turning, Loki dragged him into the depths of a room, and struggle as he did, he could not free himself from his brothers bruising grip. Not even as Loki leaned in and whispered his proposition hotly into his ear. 

It was phrased like a question, but his tone was matter of fact, almost authoritative in nature. Like he already knew Thor’s answer, like he could see Thor’s perversion etched into his face. Or perhaps, presiding over court all day had left him intoxicated from the power of it all; rendered him self-obsessed and wanting. Not unlike a spoiled child, without a trace of self-restraint. Eager to see if Thor too, his elder brother and co-king, would be equally willing to debase himself for the sole reward of Loki’s favour. A mere experiment. 

Regardless, Thor knew he ought to shove him away in disgust; swallow the stutter that fought its way to the surface and proclaim his aversion to the mere idea of such a depraved deed. Yet, he instead just went very still, cheeks aflame from either fury or embarrassment. He never had learned to spin lies the way Loki did, and it was evident in his incoherent babbling, which rang hollow, even to his own ears. 

But then Loki’s eyes flicked to his tented trousers, raising a single eyebrow haughtily; igniting a sudden, unwanted bolt of arousal from deep inside him. Awakening a wicked part of himself and briskly subduing his apprehensions.

Thus, dropping all pretences, he watched as Loki slithered out of his clothing, idly dropping his garments to the floor. Nodding in a trancelike state, he eagerly raked his eyes up his brother’s lewd form, allowing himself to look where he didn’t dare before.

With a shock, he realised that Loki’s cock was ruddy with unconcealed want, contrasting with his otherwise porcelain skin. Blushing, he instinctively diverted his eyes, momentarily forgetting himself, and earning a playful snort from his younger brother. Glancing back, he could appreciate that Loki was, unsurprising, as blessed in the nether regions as he was elsewhere; his cock long, already half-hard and curving upward rather pleasingly.

Loki slowly crawled onto the bed and into the woman splayed across the sheets; penetrating her with little ceremony, and even less resistance. Through it all Loki’s steadfast gaze never wavered, only occasionally breaking eye contact to teasingly study Thor’s plump lips; electrifying the strange, almost palpable, charge that ran between the two brothers. In its midst, it became astonishingly easy to downright forget about the third person in the room, who had promptly locked her blatant curiosity behind a carefully constructed façade of indifference.

Determined to remain quiet and professional; even as the younger king extended his hand out invitingly, beckoning his brother nearer, rousing him from his stupor. Thor reluctantly obeyed, clumsily clambering onto the very edge of the bed; reassuring himself that he would abscond at the slightest flutter of his conscious.

Up this close, he could observe how Loki’s every muscle seemed to ripple with the effort of each thrust. Entranced with every little move he made; Thor became overwhelmed by the temptation to feel them too, bashfully laying a rough hand upon his brother’s smooth back. He should rightfully flinch away, but he made no attempt to. Instead, the gesture only received a low, keening sound from Loki; not unlike that, he had made when entering the courtesan minutes before.

Encouraged by the noise, Thor hungrily ran his hands all over Loki’s body; his lean legs, his narrow hips, his graceful neck, but never his cock. Maybe, because he wished to cling to what felt like his last shred of decency. Or maybe, he just lacked the courage to do so. In any case, he elected to not deliberate the matter for long, too enchanted by the open expanse of bare skin freely available for worship to care. 

Bathed in gentle moonlight, he could just make out the thin sheen of sweet that embraced Loki’s striking form. It glistened as he shifted, granting him an almost ethereal quality. In those moments he resembled more of a light elf than an Asgardian; pale, luminous and striking. Or perhaps he looked like one of those fairy men that his mother told him stories of as a nursling, fanciful and completely unattainable. 

Both helped to endlessly reassure him, easing his troublesome conscious. It was simpler to think wrong, unbecoming thoughts if he detached himself from their shared brotherhood, imagined it was just an attractive, but faceless, stranger. 

Regardless, Thor desperately tried to catalogue every inch to memory, every lonely freckle and every lavish curve, knowing that he may never get the opportunity to do so again. He wanted to remember Loki’s swaying hips and long but slow strokes. 

But he was also greedy, and satisfaction alluded him. He urgently needed everything Loki could give him. He needed more.

Thus, growing impatient with Loki’s lazy thrusts, he impulsively grabbed his little brothers generous rear. Ignoring his startled whine, he roughly dug his nails deeper into the soft flesh; using his sturdy grip to tirelessly rock his brother back and forth into the girl, commanding their pace.

Darkly, he pondered if his harsh treatment would mark Loki. He deeply hoped so, being unexpectedly aroused by the idea of his baby brother wearing his indents for days to come. That anyone who looked upon his disrobed body would know Thor had undoubtedly been there. His own crude brand of ownership. Thinking that in some irrational way he would have fashioned Loki into his conquest, his property, not unlike how Loki had made the fine girl bellow him his. Perhaps, even more so. The thought shoot straight to his cock.

He watched, mesmerised, as Loki utterly fell apart in his grasp. His legs trembled, not unlike that of a new-born foal; struggling to support his weight. Without the intervention of his older brother, he would undoubtedly have been resigned to weak, erratic thrusts; his hips faltering. Instead, he had become wholly dependent on Thor maintaining their rather severe cadence, growing pliant in his sturdy grip, no more than a toy for Thor’s carnal gratification. Or better yet, a puppet. Needy and subservient. 

Excitement, heavy and dark, surged through his veins. It struck Thor that he was free to treat his brother as he saw fit, love him or abuse him alike; and Loki would still lack the energy to object. 

After all, his impeccable veneer was slowly dissolving from the exertion, leaving him completely exposed. His big green eyes began to well, and despite his rapid blinking, thick tears gathered on his dark lashes, and eventually flooded his normally aristocratic features. And Loki, lacking any sort of restraint, just couldn’t stop once he had started. It was a truly odd sight to behold. They were ugly tears, which marred his face, leaving his flawless skin red and blotch; yet, Thor couldn’t help but believe that he had never been more attractive. Somehow, he appeared younger in this state, open and honest; reminiscent of a time before he was ravished by puberty and the stress of governing.

Without thinking, he tangled his hands in a fistful of his brother’s thick inky locks, roughly steering Loki’s face towards his; overlooking his meek protests. Then, after a pregnant pause, Thor lunged forward and gently kissed his tears away, careful with his stubble upon such delicate skin; noting how their distinctive salty taste lingered, not unlike cum. Although, admittedly, his efforts did little more than smear the moisture, causing him to look rather dazed and obscene.

Nonetheless, he seemed bizarrely happy and carefree, if admittedly in a rather queer way. More so possibly, than Thor had ever seen him since their childhood, his heart soared at the notion. He had almost forgotten that Loki could even look like that. To his great shame, he had forgotten this had ever Loki existed. How much he had missed him. 

The sight did things to him, confusing things. Things which led to him fumbling with his belt, tugging his trousers down and taking his manhood in his hand. Releasing an inhumane growl, he resisted the fierce urge to pull himself flush with Loki’s naked behind, force his little brothers’ legs together and grind between their warmth. Instead, consoling himself with merely bucking into his firm grip, relishing the glorious friction. 

Not long after, having teetered on the edge of climate for too long, Loki came; his face contorting in the tell-tale signs of ecstasy. Enticing Thor to follow mere moments later. His seed collecting upon the curve of Loki’s lower back. 

Drained, but content, Loki hauled himself out of the girl, collapsing by her side. Consumed by the joyous afterglow, he curled in on himself, languidly closing his eyes; seemingly uninterested in ridding himself of Thor’s stain. If Thor didn’t know any better, he would think that he was readying himself to sleep. 

Thor wished he could lie down beside Loki; brush his fingers through his hair and breathe in his warm, earthy scent. He yearned to hold him tight, like they had so often done as children, and never let go. 

Yet, as he gawked down at where his baby brothers cum slowly trickled out of the courtesan, a cold sensation swept over him. Confronted by the evidence, it was hard to deny what he had just done, what they had just done.


End file.
